


Marlboro Gold

by Lacerta26



Series: Got a Light? [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rimming, Smoking, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 01:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16007789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Eggsy will tell you he doesn’t smoke, anymore. Really. Gave up when he joined Kingsman. Swear down.Harry calls bullshit.





	Marlboro Gold

Eggsy will tell you he doesn’t smoke, anymore. Really. Gave up when he joined Kingsman. Swear down.

Harry calls bullshit. 

 

I. 

Eggsy smokes when he’s nervous. 

The aftermath of V-Day had been a disaster; governments in ruins, politicians and royalty exploded in Valentine’s bunker. Kingsman had their hands full and Harry coming back from the dead had been the icing on the cake.

‘Thank fuck for that,’ Merlin had said, ‘this means you can be Arthur.’ 

Eggsy’s been helping out since he saved the world on V-Day, hanging around HQ with Roxy, bothering Merlin, so it really pains Harry, when he’s been sworn in as Arthur for a month, to tell Eggsy that all the other agents are demanding a vote on whether Eggsy can officially become a Knight.

‘What the fuck, Harry! Did they all forget what happened on fucking V-Day? I saved the fucking world remember!’

‘I know, Eggsy, it’s merely a formality. I would rather we didn’t have to, as would Merlin, but – ‘

‘They didn’t vote on you becoming Arthur. Just bloody handed it to you and you were fucking dead for most of –’ Eggsy goes red, then, when he realises what he’s said, ‘sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean, I don’t, you deserve it, yeah, it couldn’t be anyone else but, like,’ his voice goes quiet and uncertain, ‘what if they vote no?’

He bites his lip, eyes downcast and Harry kicks himself for finding that so appealing at such an inappropriate moment. He wants to reassure Eggsy, tell him again that it’s merely a formality. Roxy’s a sure thing, as is Merlin, he’s certain Percival is on side but although none of the other agents defected with Chester they are all closer to King’s old philosophy than Harry’s, ideologically. He’s heard the rumours, the whispers and the gossip; that Eggsy is Harry’s bit of rough, a pretty face plucked out of a council estate and now Harry is Arthur he’ll break all the rules to install his toy boy as his right-hand man. Except Eggsy is not his toy boy, he’s so much more than that, and regardless, Harry is well and truly sure he’s lost his chance on that score. It had been a magnanimous reunion, when he came back from the dead, they didn’t mention the fight but it felt as if the tension that had been building between them had unravelled and Harry isn’t sure how to go about picking up the pieces. What he is sure of is that he wants Eggsy to become a Kingsman, legitimately, so no one can question how he got his seat at the table.

‘I’m truly sorry but you failed the last test. The remaining Knights are quite within their rights to request a vote on this. Just be thankful they aren’t asking you to take any _more_ tests.’

Eggsy looks mutinous at that but keeps quiet. He scuffs his shoes on the floor and nods, looks up at Harry through his lashes again in a way Harry would swear was flirtatious if Eggsy didn’t look so fucking scared, ‘you’ll vote for me, right, Harry?’ By god Harry wants to give this boy everything. Make sure he knows that this, Kingsman, Harry, will not be ripped out from under him. Instead all he can do is clap Eggsy on the shoulder and give him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. 

 

Harry finds Eggsy in Berkley Square when the meeting is concluded. Harry observes him from a distance hunched on a bench, crumpled pack of cigarettes clenched in his fist, one between his teeth, smoked almost to the filter. There’s a pinched look to Eggsy’s face and even though he’s wearing a suit he looks so like the young man Harry met all those months ago. Ready to fight but weary with it, like he’s already given up. He doesn’t seem to register he has company until Harry’s sat down, looking up and stubbing out the cigarette, blowing out smoke hastily, searching for excuses.

‘Shit, Harry, I don’t, I wasn’t. It’s just nerves yeah. Thought a fag might calm me down.’

Harry smirks, ‘a fag, or an entire pack of fags?’ Eggsy blushes prettily and smiles ruefully.

‘They’re my first,’ he looks, ‘six cigs since I joined Kingsman,’ checks himself, ‘since I started training, I’ll chuck the rest out. What did they say?’

Harry smiles at him, true and honest, just to watch the hope blossom across Eggsy’s face.

‘I won’t promise it wasn’t a close-run thing but Merlin and I vouched for you. If you wish, you may join us at Kingsman and I would, personally, be honoured if you would take the title of Galahad now I have become Arthur.’

‘Fuck, really? I, thanks, shit, amazing.’

Harry feels the tips of his own ears going red in the face of Eggsy’s incoherent excitement.

‘Yes, well. Congratulations are in order. Everyone is back at the shop waiting to toast our newest Knight.’ He stands up, Eggsy follows and they shake hands, awkward somehow, now their fates seem sealed, officially.

‘Who was it that voted against me? Was it Kay, the prick? He’s always hated me.’

Harry twinkles at him but doesn’t say anything as they walk back to Saville Row. He does notice, however, that Eggsy tucks his cigarettes into his pocket instead of throwing them in a nearby bin.

 

II.

Eggsy smokes when he’s bored.

The first mission Harry and Eggsy work together after Eggsy’s swearing in is a standard stakeout job. Harry’s technically not supposed to be on active duty what with Arthur being an administrative position but he’s going out of his mind sat behind a desk all day so Merlin sends him out with Eggsy in order to avoid a catastrophic Health and Safety disaster when Harry inevitably breaks into the R & D Department and explodes something.

The only problem is that a stakeout mission with Eggsy is worse than the tedium of paperwork. They’ve been stuck in a dingy New York hotel room, watching a warehouse across the street; they have no new intel and nothing incriminating on the organisation they suspect of people trafficking. It’s a new kind of torture. Halfway through the second day Eggsy gives up on his suit, ‘I might as well be comfy if all we’re gonna be doing is dossing around,’ and has been wearing clothes that Harry would have previously considered only suitable as sleepwear. Tracksuit bottoms riding low on his hips, tiny shorts, t-shirts a few sizes too small now he’s filled out on decent meals and a Kingsman structured gym routine. Speaking of which, in the downtime between shifts watching the warehouse, all Eggsy seems to do is work out. Harry frequently turns from the recording equipment at the window to find his senses assaulted by Eggsy shirtless doing push ups, or sit ups or, god help him, pull ups in the door to the bathroom.

Harry could almost believe Eggsy is doing it on purpose to bait him but since Eggsy officially became a Kingsman he seems to be holding Harry at a distance. Before Kentucky there had definitely been tension between them, fraught with possibility. In an attempt to be somewhat professional, and after a stern talking to from Merlin – god had they been that obvious – Harry had vowed not to do anything that might compromise Eggsy’s place in the competition. The last evening with Eggsy before the Dog Test had been the best and worst of Harry’s life. Heated looks and teasing banter, trailing fingertips that lingered a touch too long, landing too low on the small of the back or too high on the top of a thigh. Had he wanted Eggsy so much he was certain he’d become a Kingsman or vice versa? Then he’d gone and got himself shot and everything had shifted. When Harry came home it was like they were waiting for something to give. Eggsy _is_ a Kingsman but Harry is _Arthur._ Any impropriety borne out of their positions now multiplied two-fold and Eggsy, growing in confidence every day, seems uncertain of Harry, like he doesn’t dare let himself get that close again because he’s been burned before. Harry wishes he could promise beyond doubt that he’s not going anywhere. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to mourn the loss of what they could have been to each other, just yet. But he feels like he’s lost his chance.

 

Six days into the mission Harry lets himself back in to the hotel room after a groceries run, the number of Twinkies Eggsy can put away is obscene, to find the room empty and the window open. Hand to his gun, assessing, no signs of a struggle, the door wasn’t forced, he says, ‘Eggsy?’

‘Out here, Haz,’ comes Eggsy’s voice, if anyone else called Harry that he’d punch them, as it is he follows the voice out the window and on to the fire escape. The night is warm so Eggsy is only wearing his tiny shorts, they’re barely boxers, honestly, and a white t-shirt, shoulder holster pulling it tight across his pecs, smoking.

In the dark the tip of the cigarette glows and Harry follows the movement of Eggsy’s hand to his mouth and the deep draw in of smoke as he sucks on the end of it. Unlike in the park where Eggsy was nervous, shifty and holding himself stiffly, tonight his features are soft. His mouth doesn’t scrunch around the cigarette, it’s more a pout, full lips opening on a slow exhale of smoke and Harry’s dick twitches as he imagines what else that plush mouth could do. Fuck. He’d much rather someone got out the thumbscrews that have to carry on watching the beautiful bow of Eggsy’s mouth wrapped around something that isn’t his cock. Eggsy smiles ruefully. Doesn’t stub the cigarette out this time, though.

‘I got bored. We’ve been here too fucking long, starting to think Merlin’s sent us on a wild goose chase for some reason.’

It briefly occurs to Harry that maybe Merlin did send them here so they’d have to talk or fuck or something. He doesn’t say this to Eggsy, instead he says, ‘so you thought you’d take up smoking?’

Eggsy wrinkles his nose, ‘yeah, well, I still had some of this pack left…’

Harry is about to say something about how nonsensical that is as an excuse when the warehouse fucking explodes. Eggsy drops his cigarette as they spring into action, conversation left hanging.

 

III.

Eggsy smokes out of habit.

After the incident in New York, which they got out of just fine thank you, Eggsy insists on telling his mother the truth.

‘It’s just not done, lad,’ says Merlin, remarkably level given they’ve been arguing about this for weeks and Eggsy’s just brought it up again.

Harry runs a hand over his face and steels himself to look into Eggsy’s eyes, which are defiant but so sincere, ‘we’re protecting so many secrets, Eggsy, we can’t start telling random civilians.’

Eggsy scoffs, ‘my mum is not random and anyway I ain’t gonna tell her any state fucking secrets. I just need her to know the stakes of this, I can’t have her go through what she did with my dad. Not again.’

‘And you think her knowing in advance would make it easier? Wondering every time you don’t answer the phone that the worst has happened?’ Harry says gently. Merlin looks pained like he’s done with Harry’s soft spot for Eggsy and needs him to start putting his foot down.

Eggsy rolls his eyes, ‘just because all the rest of you are lonely bastards with no family to care about doesn’t mean I’m gonna keep lying to my mum. She’s been through too much, I can’t do it to her. I won’t.’ This last said directly to Harry, Lee’s death hanging heavy between them, forgiven but not forgotten and Harry suddenly finds he has no feet to put down. 

 

They agree with Merlin, under significant duress, the bare minimum Eggsy can share with his mother which is how Harry finds himself sat on the sofa in Eggsy’s old flat, mercifully sans Dean, an unmourned loss of V-Day, while Michelle glares at him. It’s the same look Eggsy gets when he’s about to accuse Harry of being an uncaring, repressed toff with a silver spoon up his backside. Usually with good reason. 

‘You’re telling me my husband was a _spy,’_ says Michelle looking between Eggsy and Harry. She’s faffing with a pouch of Amber Leaf, has been half way through rolling a cigarette for the half hour they’ve been there.

‘Sort of, yes mum,’ says Eggsy taking everything out of her hands. The filter clamped between his lips is quite distracting, the dexterity of his fingers as he pinches threads of tobacco, the pink flick of his tongue along the gummed edge of the rizla and Harry has to tear his eyes away from Eggsy when he passes the roll-up to his mother. Michelle is regarding them with a different look now and Harry can feel himself blush. This is why he’s been single for so long: mothers. They can always see right through the bullshit and he and Eggsy are still not really anything. Colleagues, yes. Friends, definitely. They flirt, tease, spend more time together than Harry ever has with any of his friends. Friend. Well, Merlin. But it’s like there’s still a line they’ve yet to cross back over. He thinks Eggsy wants it. Wanted it for sure, all that time ago. He knows _he_ wants it and now he’s certain Michelle knows exactly what Eggsy’s 54-year-old boss wants from her son. Aside from his dazzling array of talents and the possibility he might not make it a past 40 or 30 or next week.

‘You can keep him safe?’ Michelle says to Harry and his eyes flick back to Eggsy who has rolled his own cigarette in the meantime and is accepting the lighter back from his mother. 

He smirks, lights up, takes a drag, ‘habit.’

‘He keeps himself safe Mrs Unwin,’ says Harry and he sees the flicker of gratitude in her face that he didn’t call her Mrs Baker, ‘and he keeps the country safe. For people like you and your daughter. It’s dangerous, I won’t lie to you, but Eggsy has had the best training, he’s part of the best team, we all want to keep him alive as long as possible.’

‘I bet you do,’ says Michelle but there’s no heat in it, no judgement just resignation to the fact that however much she dislikes it she’s lost her son to Kingsman, to a man twice Eggsy’s age who’s killed more people than he’s had hot dinners. 

She stubs out the end of her cigarette and Eggsy follows suit as they make moves to leave.

‘I am sorry, mum,’ says Eggsy, ‘but this is the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.’

‘Just so long as it’s the best thing you do with your life and not with your death, babes. I can’t lose you like I lost your dad,’ says Michelle.

‘I know, I ain’t planning on going anywhere,’ they embrace on the threshold and Harry, out the door already, feels awkward, looks away and back again as they part. 

‘Come round for tea on Sunday, yeah? Daisy’ll like it, she’ll be sad to of missed you today,’ says Michelle with a small smile. Her eyes cut to Harry, ‘you can bring your bloke along if you want.’

Eggsy goes beetroot red as Harry attempts to pretend to be deeply interested in the bike propped outside next doors flat.

‘Harry’s not, he’s just my boss, mum, we aren’t together or nothing,’ splutters Eggsy.

‘Sure,’ says Michelle, ‘Sunday, yeah? I’ll see you then!’

They don’t speak on the walk back to the cab. At the end of the road Eggsy stops reflexively, lights another roll-up he’s pulled from somewhere, sees Harry looking, ‘sorry, habit.’

 

IV.

Eggsy smokes when he’s drunk and so does Roxy, apparently.

Harry is not sure exactly how he and Merlin wound up in a club in Shoreditch at one in the morning but here they are. He can only really make out Merlin’s glasses and the shine of his bald head under the rotating florescent lights and there’s no sense trying to make conversation over the pounding bass line. From the relative comfort of the booth they’ve commandeered he feels awfully like he’s chaperoning the children at a disco. 

Eggsy and Roxy keep appearing suddenly by the table, sweaty and grinning to take grateful sips of their drinks before disappearing back to the dance floor. Their attempts to get Harry and Merlin to dance have been so far unsuccessful. Harry is at least 20 years older than everyone in here and, despite the martinis and the fact he knows Merlin can cut a rug when he wants to, Harry isn’t all that interested in the humiliation. He’s far more content to watch all the gorgeous young things dance, or more accurately writhe, with each other. It does make him feel rather like a dirty old pervert but it’s less strain on his knees, so there.

He hasn’t yet seen Roxy and Eggsy dancing; their efforts have drawn them too far into the seething mass of bodies but a change of song spits them out at the edge of the dance floor and Harry feels the prickly burn of desire and jealousy to watch them but watch them he does. They’re shining with sweat, and is that actual glitter procured from somewhere? The bass line of the song playing is slow and pulsing. Eggsy’s hands are on Roxy’s hips as they move together in a perfect simulation of fucking, Roxy’s arms around Eggsy’s shoulders, his head tipped back to reveal the long column of his throat. The song shifts to the chorus and Eggsy spins Roxy round so her arse is pressed to the cradle of his hips. They move like that, drawing stares from everyone around them.

Harry manages to grit out an excuse, one he’s not sure Merlin hears, and stumbles to the loo. The light is too bright compared to the club, too damning. His face in the mirror disgusts him, he imagines his thoughts are written too obviously across it. He slams the door of a cubicle shut behind him, presses his forehead to the cold tile and the heel of his hand to his cock, half hard and getting harder. He considers the indignity of cracking one out in a club loo at 2.30am to thoughts of a much younger colleague. A much younger colleague who is currently getting very closely acquainted with a far more appropriate person. Instead, he lets his eyes linger unseeingly over the graffiti scrawled on the walls. His fingers absently tracing a heart carved into one of the tiles.

‘Shit, Hart, pull yourself together,’ Harry mutters to himself. He’s had too much to drink, he’s going to go home, go to bed and resolutely not think inappropriate thoughts about Eggsy, no matter how much he might want to. He leaves the cubicle, washes his hands unnecessarily and heads back to the blessed darkness of the club. Merlin isn’t at their booth to say goodbye to and Harry is not throwing himself into the throng of bodies to find Eggsy and Roxy so he will have to send an apologetic text for disappearing or he could be a coward about it and ignore everyone til Monday.

Outside is cold in comparison to the club, bright and dark in the way only Central London at night ever manages to be. He glances round for a cab, he won’t stoop to using the Night Tube, and spots Eggsy, Merlin and Roxy in the huddle of smokers on the corner. They don’t notice him immediately; Merlin is laughing in that unfocused way of the merry drunk at something Eggsy’s saying. The movement of Eggsy’s hand as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, fuck that mouth, draws Harry’s attention to his other arm, wrapped protectively around Roxy’s waist. She’s pressed closely to Eggsy’s body, reaching out her hand to purloin Eggsy’s cigarette, to take a drag. There’s something so intimate about that gesture, Roxy’s mouth forming an ‘O’ around the filter right where Eggsy’s lips had just been. She takes another drag, smiling at Eggsy’s impatience, he rolls his eyes fondly as he finally gets the cigarette back.

Maybe Harry has missed his chance with Eggsy, maybe he had it all wrong from the beginning. When discussing past relationships Eggsy has only mentioned girls but he’s always kept it gender neutral when talking about potential partners and there had been that time he’d waxed lyrical about his teenage adoration for David Beckham that had edged a bit too far away from anything that could be considered platonic. The phrase ‘those fucking thighs, man’ had been uttered. Harry can usually read people really well, he is a fucking spy after all, and he doesn’t think he’s misread the signals Eggsy’s been sending, was sending, fuck, maybe isn’t sending anymore. No, this is better. Harry is a dirty old man, far too old for Eggsy and if his affections have moved on to Roxy that’s probably for the best. Harry will get over it even if it feels like his old heart is breaking. 

He wants to be a coward about it right now, though, hail a cab and disappear home to nurse his disappointment in peace but he is first and foremost a gentleman so he heads over to wish them all goodnight. Eggsy drops his hand as if to hide his cigarette as soon as he sees Harry. Smiling contritely, already trying to work up an excuse. It makes Harry’s heart swell; that Eggsy is still trying to impress him, trying not to disappoint. Merlin is regarding them far to shrewdly given his state of inebriation and Roxy is smiling at him blearily, still pressed to Eggsy’s side.

‘I’ll see you all on Monday,’ says Harry, smiling, although he doesn’t mean it, ‘don’t stay out too late.’ 

‘We’re heading off now, actually,’ says Eggsy, ‘I’m just gonna see Rox home.’ Does he sound apologetic?

‘G’night, Harry,’ says Merlin, clapping him on the shoulder, ‘chin up, eh?’ and that just confirms it, Merlin trying to soften the blow of what they all know is happening here. Harry hails a cab, has to get out of there. It sits in traffic outside the club and he watches Merlin walking off towards Liverpool Street. Absolutely doesn’t watch Eggsy finish his cigarette with Roxy in the sulphurous glow of the streetlights.

 

V.

Eggsy smokes after a shag.

Harry finally, _finally,_ gets his hands on Eggsy after a particularly difficult mission. Merlin dismisses them from HQ medical and they head back to London in silence. When Eggsy follows Harry into his cab outside the shop, Harry doesn’t stop him, too afraid to jinx it, too afraid to ask what this is. When they reach the mews, Harry doesn’t tell him to go home, doesn’t question the warm weight of Eggsy’s body beside him on the doorstep. The bit of his brain that’s been a spy for 30 years tells him _he knows what this is_ but he daren’t check in case all Eggsy wants is a chat, a chance to forget the past 48 hours with a friendly face. But the look Eggsy gives him in the hallway is so full of heat it’s unmistakable, a clear come-on, an invitation. The same look he gave Harry before his final test, the one Harry should have heeded all those months ago.

Harry does allow himself one last question, for confirmation, it’s apropos of nothing and everything all at once, ‘I thought you were with Roxy?’

Eggsy laughs, incredulous, a delighted bubble of sound, ‘fuck off Harry,’ and pulls him into a kiss, hot and desperate so all Harry can do is press them against the closed front door and accept this addition to his endless good fortune.

Snogging Eggsy, for that’s what it is, wet and filthy, is like someone’s taken all the air out of the room. Eggsy up on his tiptoes, arms around Harry’s neck, no hint of shame as he gets what he wants. It makes Harry’s head swim. He pulls Eggsy by the hips, hands finding skin under his shirt, leading him up the stairs. Eggsy’s pawing at Harry’s suit jacket, smiling into his mouth, so Harry obliges, shoves it off his shoulders and tries not to care when it hits the floor. They make it to the sofa, collapsing on to it, Harry first, and it’s obvious from the way they’re breathing hard they’re not making it to the bedroom. Harry cups his hands on Eggsy’s jaw, pulls him down for another kiss, nipping at his bottom lip with teeth, soothing with a swipe of his tongue. Lying like this their height difference is not so obvious and Harry rolls his hips, grips Eggsy’s arse, pressing their dicks together, the most glorious friction even with their trousers still on. 

Eggsy moans into Harry’s mouth, kissing forgotten in favour of pulling at Harry’s tie until Harry sits up, forcing Eggsy on to his knees either side of Harry’s hips. Harry pulls his own tie off, starts on his shirt and Eggsy sits gormlessly for a second, just watching Harry strip before he jumps up off the sofa to get his own clothes off. Then it’s Harry’s turn to be distracted. He’s seen Eggsy shirtless before obviously, on missions, at the gym where Eggsy delights in parading around in as few clothes as possible but now he gets to look without shame, full of appreciation. Because Eggsy is just beautiful. Thick thighs, perfect round arse, strong and compact but lithe with it; a gymnast’s body, built for strength, flexibility, agile and responsive. Harry knows he looks pretty good too, especially for 54, he’s always been lean and tall, the length of his legs often commented on by lovers but Eggsy, one could write sonnets about that body. And then Eggsy grins at him, preens, real and warm and alive. Here for Harry to have and hold dear, not something to be put on a pedestal.

‘Like what you see old man?’ 

‘Certainly, now get back over here.’ 

Eggsy smirks and goes, easy, puts himself in Harry’s lap like he belongs there and god does Harry want to keep him. Harry’s usually so certain of himself, in bed, in someone’s arms but here, now, with a gorgeous 25-year-old writhing in his lap his mind goes inexplicably blank. 

‘What is it you want Harry?’

And isn’t that interesting. Harry has always been a generous lover. Happy, generally, to fall into whatever role his partner wants from him which up til now has usually been one of taking charge. His previous liaisons have never been with anyone so selfish as to leave him wanting but people usually look at him and want to give over the reins, get him to take them in hand. He doesn’t object to that, hell, he’s good at it and before now he’d have said he couldn’t wait to have Eggsy over every available surface but with Eggsy above him, strong and firm, what actually comes out of his mouth is, ‘would you be so kind as to fuck me into this sofa?’

‘Shit, yes, Harry, OK,’ and Eggsy’s kissing him again like this is enough, like they could do this forever but Harry is so hard he might pass out so he sits up again, relishes the feeling of their dicks sliding together and says, ‘lube and condoms in the loo.’

‘Mr Pickle looks after ‘em for you does he?’ Eggsy says as he gets up, pressing a quick kiss to Harry’s lips, Harry swatting him on the arse as he goes.

Eggsy returns triumphant pressing Harry back to the sofa with quick teasing kisses, hands to his hips, urging him to turn over. Harry braces himself on the arm of the sofa, back arched, tries to remember the last time someone fucked him and if he wanted it this much. He can feel the lube and the condom packet against his calf but Eggsy is taking his time, kissing down Harry’s spine with a scrape of teeth sending shivers sparking under his skin. He reaches Harry’s arse, bites one cheek, a smile into his skin, ‘can I?’

‘I don’t know, can you?’ and Harry absolutely deserves the fact Eggsy doesn’t wait for a proper answer after that, just spreads his arse cheeks and licks a broad swipe over his hole til Harry’s moaning. Eggsy alternates with gentle licks and broad strokes, keeping Harry on edge but never quite getting him over, arching into the wet fuck of Eggsy's tongue. Harry’s moving his hips, abortive little shifts as if he can get some friction from the air and Eggsy must sense the step up in his arousal because suddenly he’s pressing his thumb to the skin behind Harry’s balls, tongue still moving over his hole, teasing. Harry has never begged for anything in his life but he’d give this boy anything, in this moment, if he’d just _get on with it._

‘Eggsy please.’

Eggsy laughs his thumb replacing his tongue, just inside Harry’s body, like he’s holding his place, ‘begging’s beneath you Harry.’

‘I don’t care, stop teasing, I need you to fuck me, come on.’

‘What if I just want to do this? See if I can make you come on my tongue, my fingers, what if I don’t touch your cock at all?’

‘You little shit,’ but Eggsy’s fingers are already stroking over his hole, sliding in two, easy and slick. He picks up the pace then as if Harry’s desperation has taken his own arousal to another level. Eggsy’s fingers are slender but firm, glancing over Harry’s prostate on every stroke and suddenly the warm, wet press of his tongue is back between them, getting Harry wet and slippery, the sounds obscene in the quiet of his sitting room. And then it’s all gone, from overwhelming stimulation to nothing, as Harry is pulled back from the brink with the first insistent push of Eggsy’s fat dick at his hole, inch by perfect inch until Eggsy is pressed so closely to Harry’s back it’s like he wants to climb inside him.

‘Fuck, Harry, you feel so good,’ says Eggsy, voice strained and Harry is gratified by the knowledge that the evenings activities have affected them both. And then Eggsy starts moving one hand at Harry’s hip, the other between his shoulder blades and all Harry can do is take it, pressed over the arm of his sofa as Eggsy thrusts into him with long strokes of his hips. The head of his dick keeps hitting Harry’s prostate and he knows one touch to his dick and he’ll come. For all his desperation, he wants this to last; they’ve waited long enough to get here and now it’s happening. Eggsy using all his strength, all his power, to fuck Harry into oblivion.

Harry isn’t sure how he’d imagined this; fucking Eggsy, Eggsy fucking him but it feels like months of unspoken desire and miscommunication pouring out with the press of their bodies, sweaty and desperate. Eggsy fucks like he fights, like he when he goes free-running, a perfect economy of movement, elegant and efficient. Harry wonders what he’d have to do to make Eggsy go incoherent, lose his rhythm and abandon himself to the feeling. He rolls his hips, clenches down on Eggsy’s dick just to hear him moan.

‘God, Harry, I’m gonna come, shit,’ moans Eggsy and Harry wishes they’d foregone the condom, however ill-advised that would be, so he could feel Eggsy filling his arse when he comes. Eggsy’s hauling him back, so they’re both up on their knees, back to chest and it shouldn’t work because Harry is so much taller, because Eggsy’s thrusts have gone erratic, no less powerful, but his hand is stripping Harry’s dick fast and he’s muttering so much filth in Harry’s ear, ‘come for me Harry, go on, I want to see you come on my cock, you take it so nicely, show me what it does to you, come for me, go on,’ and Harry slumps forward, coming all over the sofa, that’ll be a bitch to clean, and Eggsy follows him down, groaning his own release. 

They lie in a sweaty, sticky heap, breathing hard, until Eggsy heaves himself up and over to his discarded suit jacket pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

‘Don’t look at me like that, you know I smoke.’ 

‘Yes,’ Harry laughs, ‘but do you know you smoke?’

Eggsy just sticks his tongue out, opens the French windows on to the balcony, lights up, still stark bollock naked.

‘You’ll be in the next Residents Association newsletter if you keep standing there like that, it’ll cause a scandal.’

Eggsy wiggles his arse, takes a drag, ‘What, you don’t want them to know you’ve got a hot, young toy boy up here?’

‘You’ve been here enough times, I’m pretty sure they already think you’re my hot, young toy boy. Either that or you’re my son.’

‘Yuck, Harry, don’t say things like that!’

‘Come over here and shut me up then.’

And Eggsy does, stubbing out the cigarette, sliding on to the sofa next to harry for kisses that taste like smoke, gentle and sweet. Kisses you could lose a whole afternoon to, a whole lifetime.

 

VI.

Eggsy watches Harry from across the bar in Vienna as he offers their mark a light, she leans into Harry’s cupped hands, smiles and blows out smoke as Harry lights his own cigarette. The bar is dimly lit, soft golden light making Harry look like a film star in his perfect single breasted suit. He brings the cigarette up to his mouth, gentle in one large hand and Eggsy wants to do nothing more than insinuate himself between them, between Harry and the mark, between Harry and the cigarette, stake his claim.

The mark is laughing now, looking at Harry through her lashes as she sips her drink. She grabs his wrist as he leans towards the ashtray, whispers something in his ear. Harry nods, takes a final drag on the cigarette, stubbing it out and following her. 

Eggsy wants to punch something.

‘Tail them, just in case he needs back up,’ says Merlin in Eggsy’s ear, ‘don’t start a fight.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ murmurs Eggsy as he heads out the bar, following at a discrete distance, Harry’s hand on the small of the mark’s back.

Outside of a hotel, an hour later, Eggsy steps out of the shadow of a doorway, ‘got a light?’

‘Smoking’ll kill you,’ says Harry, stepping closer, ‘but if you need something to do with your mouth I can think of a few things.’

‘Yeah? Thought you’d picked your company for the night?’

Harry holds up a USB stick, he still smells like smoke when he pulls Eggsy in for a kiss, ‘not a chance.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> I searched for countries where you can still smoke inside and google said Vienna, if that's wrong don't @ me, Vienna is sexy so there.
> 
> Also, don't start smoking, etc. etc.


End file.
